Little Guy

Since Kellie‘s sudden passing, my thoughts have turned often to digital legacy. The footprint we leave behind with our internet published words. I’m sure Kellie’s family find her words a gift to treasure. I know I do. And so I decided that I would write posts for my little family. A small word-legacy of my own. I don’t see it as morbid, just sensible. We should all consider what might be left of us, for our loved ones if something should happen.
And in the end, something will happen to every one of us.
I still have a few letters from my Mum that escaped being culled over the years. I love to read them and hear the words she wrote just for me. Recently I wrote some words for my girl. Today, it’s the turn of our little guy. One day he will be taller than me, with whiskers on those cheeks! I can’t imagine it. But I know that even then, he’ll still be my sweet little boy, always my baby! And he may want to read my words about him. So, Zed, today’s post is all about you. Mwah!

Little Guy, when you were born it was a sunny Spring day. The weather was as hopeful as we were. A new season was certainly on its way! Your birth was brought forward three weeks because of my health. Just as well really, because the scans were showing us that you were already a very big boy! We arrived at the hospital early and I laboured, thanks to a very kind obstetrician, without pain, for eight hours. Then: there you were, completely perfect, so big and so content. I was so surprised, it really was that easy, a dream delivery and a delightful baby. You didn’t make a peep. You just looked up at us while your Daddy and I grinned. Hello, you seemed to be saying to us. I’m here, let’s get on with stuff!

You were an alert, contented little guy right from the start. We had your day bed out where all the action was and you would sleep when you wanted to, oblivious to all the noise. We knew when you were awake because you woke singing little “traLAla!” songs. What a happy sound! Your little face, a picture of happiness, sweetly peeping over the edge of your blankets, your legs kicking when you wanted to see more of things. You adored the jolly jumper and would swing wide, giggling as you swung back, kicking out your strong little legs for a bigger jump.

No one could make you laugh quite as much as your big sister, I have gorgeous pictures of you two, sharing jokes no one else understood. And from so early, you began to use your considerable skill to get your way. Those eyes would arch up into a teasing grin and few could resist your charming ways. As if that wasn’t enough entertainment, your quirky sense of humour has had us falling apart with laughter for years, and here you are, only six. Your presence in our family has changed things around here and we like it!

You are a unique fella, Zed. There’s no one quite like you. You think differently, and I love that. You remind me of your uncle, so often that you hear me call you by his name sometimes. Not because you are like him, but because like him, you walk to the beat of your own drum. You are equal parts charming and mischievous. And then you disarm us with a sudden display of sweet affection, your arms wrapping around us, your kisses hot on our faces. You like to dance (in your own special mix of break-dance and ballet) and put on shows, you tell us you want to be an actor. You are a fidgety fella, but then you surprise us with your attention and composure when you are interested in something. I will always remember the time I was playing classical music in the car, Bach I think, and I could see your little eyes welling up. “Mum, why is this music sad?” you asked me. You respond to music with a sense of feeling most little guys don’t have. You are a study in contrast, a sensitive soul and a typical boy, all rolled into one busy package.

When you were about four, you told me a little story that I will always treasure. You told me that before you were born, you flew around the world until you found a girl you wanted to be your mum. Then you told God, “I want that one”. You told me that She said yes. I like lots of things about that story. You tell me now that you love to write, even though it is a difficult dyslexic process to get those great ideas out on paper. But the struggle doesn’t stop you loving to tell stories. Keep telling them Little Guy. You’ve got great stories.

I feel sad that you have never known me as a well person. Even when you were in my tummy, I was constantly dizzy, tired and sick. I hope my efforts to mitigate the impact of my illness on you have brought you the best version of me you can have. I hope it’s good enough. You were a gift child and I am grateful to you, because from the very beginning you made it easier for me, sweet boy. You were such a good baby, a good feeder a good sleeper and an all round sweetheart. Until… we reached the age of little-boy-grossness and the hilarity of farts, smelly feet, bogeys and a fascination with all things icky! But I’m sure it will pass…?!

Before you came along, we’d been trying for some time to have you. But Granny was really sick and everyone was so stressed. I think you eventually came along at the right time, but I so wish she had seen your sweet face. My goodness she would have loved you so much, Zed. She would have wanted to smother you with kisses and special Granny cuddles! We chose your name because of her. We are not religious, but she was a woman of faith, and your name means “The Lord has remembered”. It would have meant a lot to her. And we wanted your name to stand for something bigger; see, you are a continuation of a long line of people. So many stories and souls worth remembering, sweet heart. So many people whose lives have contributed to yours, so stay in touch with your extended family. They are just like that funny saying Aunty Cath sent me on a calendar one year:“families are like fudge…mostly sweet with a few nuts”.

I don’t know what your life has in store for you. But I know that it is significant. There is something special about you, something different and important. Don’t try to hide your uniqueness little guy. Be who you are and spread the gift of your charms around, people feel special when you fix your attention on them. You bring joy and validation to so many people when you see them for who they are. Remember your gifts and use them. Someone once said that the meaning of life is to discover your gift, then the purpose of life is to give it away. I don’t know who that was, but they were on to something. You have been bestowed with many gifts and the ability to give much. If you are ever in doubt about what to do? Do that.

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6 thoughts on “Little Guy”

Such a gorgeous little man. Destined for great things.
You are such an awesome Mummy – especially chosen for two very special people. Love your posts about your little girl & little boy. Your love is so tangible through your words.
Your Mum would be so proud of the mother you have become, so proud of her delightful grand-babies.
X

Hi Rach, he is just so handsome and my heart melted when I read the line “You told me that before you were born, you flew around the world until you found a girl you wanted to be your mum”. I’m sure you’ll treasure that forever and no wonder he decided on you.

Such a sweet little man, I have loved every minute of babysitting these too blondies. Zacs energy is so motivating and it is super cute when he gets embarassed! My fondest memory was when I took them both to one tree hill and zac was very young, not quite walking, we all lay down on the grass near the top and they both just smothered me in cuddles and tickles and I remember thinking I couldn’t wait to be a mum!